War of Another World

a short story

by Adam Roberts

I turned to him, my prostheses whirring. 'I hardly need return the
question,' I said to him. 'Your opinions on the conflict are
well known.'

'We are the most highly evolved creatures in the solar system,' said
Splendor-of-Thought, eagerly. 'We have advanced to unprecedented levels
in all the key scientific areas. Our machines render us strong and mobile.
Our rocketry means we can span the vastness between worlds. Surely a
people so advanced do not need to wage a war of imperial conquest.'

'So!' I retorted. 'Many would disagree with your description of this
campaign -- imperialism? Who says this is a war of imperialism? The
people of the Blue World labour under conditions of the most appalling
primitiveness. We are liberating them from that tyranny, bringing
the benefits of our far-superior technology and civilisation. They will
benefit as much as we.'

'You admit that we will benefit enormously from this war,' pressed
Splendor-of-Thought, as if it were a brilliant debating point. 'You
admit that self interest is largely at work in this deployment?'

'Is it a criminal thing to benefit?' I replied. 'Come, Splendor-of-Thought;
live up to your name! Do we worship the principles of pure mentition,
the disinterested glory of Thought-as-God that shapes the cosmos? Or
are we to surrender ourselves to the thoughtless glandular surges of
emotion that marked our ancestors?'

'Our glands may have atrophied,' he said, 'but they have not disappeared.
And of course sometimes stray hormones filter through to our brains
in our food. I would not be ashamed of arguing an emotional case, if
I were doing so. But on the contrary, my case is argued from the position
of mentition! Mentition tells us that we should allow the creatures
of the blue world to evolve at their own pace, until they are ready
to join us in the solar system as equals! Not enslave them! That thought
is abhorrent.'

'Of course,' I said, shuffling a little to the left to allow one of
my service-devices to access the launch tube, 'it goes without saying
that the idea of enslaving another people is anathema to any right-thinking
Martian. But that's not what the war is about.'

'I might have thought you would say so,' snorted Splendor-of-Thought.
'You have been brainwashed by the pronouncements of the ruling council.'

'Not at all. The soldiers over there are some of the most civilised,
the most thoughtful citizens of our civilisation. They're prepared to
risk their lives to defend the Martian way of life -- and to bring its
benefits to surly backward savages.' I gestured with a metallic tentacle,
and continued confidently: 'Once the army has suppressed the local resistance,
and established walkers and service towers across the key countries,
then the natives themselves will come to realise how much better off
they are. I predict that in a matter of months the people of the Blue
World will be thanking us for what we have done for them. Thanking us!'

The work on the Launch Tube service coolant vent-carburant was complete.
We geared up and strode across the plain, leaving the launch tube to
the ministrations of the service devices.

Of course, Splendor-of-Thought's objections to the war were not eccentric,
or his alone. Many otherwise good-thinking Martians shared his concerns,
so much so that the ruling council had posted a continual guard along
the length of the great launching tube. A saboteur might hope to interfere
in some way with the tube, and so prevent our troops from so much as
launching across the void to the newly civilised world. Patrols were
ubiquitous to prevent precisely this. The two of us were stopped by
one such patrol; my feelers passed the authorisation cylinder from my
walker to the Guard Captain's, and we were permitted to move on.

The sun sent magenta shadows fluttering away from our metal legs as
we strode towards the dome. The dust was red with the dried remains
of the Great Weed -- not through drought (the weed had been permitted
to die away of natural causes so as not to overgrow the Launch Tube).
The red sun settled onto the red horizon. It was a desolately beautiful
sight.

Splendor-of-Thought's voice came through on my speaker again. 'I only
wish you wouldn't talk of civilising them.'

'How else would you describe it?' I countered. 'Taking away the chains
of their ignorance and backwardness -- leading them into the age of
thought, of technology, of space flight.'

'It's as if you haven't been watching the news ... ' he said.

'What do you mean?' I snapped,

'You've surely seen the reports of atrocities,' he said petulantly.

I did not enjoy hearing my colleague speaking in this way. 'If I didn't
know that the vetting process for employing technicians on the Great
Launch Tube were as thorough as they are,' I said, 'I might start to
suspect you of harbouring antiwar ambitions to sabotage Operation Free
Blueworld.'

'Atrocity,' Splendor-of-Thought continued, 'is the word that describes
what is going on over there. How can you disagree? You must have
seen the pictures -- those poor Blueworld natives tortured -- killed.'

'There is bound to be unfortunate collateral damage in any military
operation,' I pointed out. 'Regrettable, but a price worth paying --
the sooner the military can bring the fighting to an end the better
for everybody, Blueworld natives included.'

'Which means ... '

'Which means our patriotic duty is to support our troops. It
only prolongs the war to criticise, as you are doing. That way nobody
benefits. A swift Martian victory is imperative for everybody's sake.'

'You're certain,' Splendor-of-Thought said with a new tone of slyness
in his voice, 'that victory is assured?'

'Of course.' This was almost an idiotic question. 'We are many thousands
of years in advance of the Blueworld natives in technological terms.
We have mastered the machinery of war, the tactics, all possible obstacles.
Our war-tripods are virtually unassailable. We have anticipated every
eventuality; the greater gravity of the Blueworld, the thickness of
the atmosphere, the alien germs and organisms.'

'Our advanced troops have certainly been treated with the most up-to-date
genetic enhancement to preserve them from infection by Blueworld viruses
or bacteria,' said Splendor-of-Thought.

'Bacteria to which the natives themselves are susceptible!' I pointed
out. 'They cannot even protect themselves from simple infections, as
we can. They lack our intellect, our technology, and our will to win.
Victory is inevitable.'

We were almost at the dome.

'The genetic enhancement laboratories that treated our troops,' said
Splendor-of-Thought, his voice more sly still, like a child with a secret,
'produces many things apart from regimens to protect troops against
alien bugs.'

I didn't like his tone. 'What do you mean?'

'I am merely saying,' he said. 'It would be possible -- let's say --
for the sake of argument -- that a disgruntled antiwar technician could
develop a superbug that would overcome even the immunity of our shock
troops.'

I stopped. 'Go on.'

Splendor-of-Thought brought his walker to a halt beside me. 'Well,
it's possible that this lab-worker could pass a vial of this superbug
to a worker on the Launch Tube -- perhaps a likeminded Martian, somebody
also opposed to the war.'

'And?'

'And, given the official access granted such a worker, it's possible
that the Rocket Shells could be contaminated with this superbug before
being accelerated along the tube.'

My brain pulsed heavily with the implications of what Splendor-of-Thought
was saying. 'But then ... '

'Then the troops would carry the infection with them ... an infection
designed to lay them low, and leave the Blueworld natives untouched.
After a few days the troops would begin to sicken, and eventually die.
In that case,' said Splendor-of-Thought, 'Martian victory would
not be as certain as you are suggesting.'

'That would be an act of such barbarous treachery ... ' I began to
say, quivering with rage. ' ... a terrible, appalling act ... '

'It's just a hypothetical,' said Splendor-of-Thought. 'I'm only floating
the notion. But it gives one pause for thought, doesn't it? What if
the war is not won? Eh? What then for our supposedly civilised
Mars?'

And he activated his walker and strode quickly away. I stood and watched
him disappear across the purple and red wastes, his shadows fluttering
after him along the dirt like torn ribbons in the wind.